


Always You

by TrashKat



Category: South Park
Genre: AU Swap, FBW AU, Getting Together, M/M, SOT AU, basically an alternate universe selves getting their respective counterparts together fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-04-22 04:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14300721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashKat/pseuds/TrashKat
Summary: Stan Marshwalker was betrothed to his king, while Toolshed just wanted to know his superhero partner's first name. Getting together doesn't always go at the same pace, it seems. But they'll get there in the end.They always do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this absolutely amazing art by foxydodo (http://foxydodo.tumblr.com/post/172841122730/swap-the-pointy-triangles-on-the-aviator-goggles), I present to you the AU swap style fic I wrote in a crazy haze of inspiration. Trust me, there's more. A lot more. But here's the beginning :)

Toolshed had always loved the feel of wind brushing against his face.

For him, it was a reminder. When the sun set and the temperature dropped, Stan shrugged out of his work clothes and into the costume of Toolshed, friendly city-wide superhero. He’d sneak out of his apartment complex through the hallway window and feel the cool breeze on his skin as he slipped from rooftop to rooftop, making his way downtown to the heart of city life—and city crime. He’d pass the minutes adjusting his costume, checking and re-checking his gear, and generally fiddling until the wind swept up around him, funneling in a vortex, until his partner in crime landed in front of him.

Well. Partner in anti-crime.

After nearly a year of working together, their schedules were almost perfectly in-sync. In fact, the only reason Stan had to wait at all was because he’d never gotten over the quiet stir of awe that blew through him whenever Human Kite swept through the sky and landed to meet him. 

“Hey Shed,” Kite greeted him with a brief nod. He was pulling his flight goggles off, setting them to rest atop his head in the most vividly red shock of hair Stan had ever seen.

“Hey,” he echoed, hearing more than feeling the smile on his lips. 

“Hope you weren’t waiting long,” Kite said.

Stan shook his head. “Just got here.”

Kite smiled then, and approached so he could take a seat next to him against the edge of the building’s roof. Stan had one of his grapplers half-disconfigured in front of him, and Kite considered it with his head tilted in mild interest. 

“You tweaked it again,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” Stan chuckled, somewhat sheepish. “Slow day at work, you know. My friend C—”

“Shed,” Kite interrupted, voice suddenly stern. “No names.”

Stan’s mouth closed and he nodded, feeling himself deflate.

Kite had been like this ever since they met. He was friendly enough, passionate, a heart of gold… but entirely professional. Nearly a year together and they hadn’t even told each other their real names—not that Stan hadn’t wanted to. But Kite insisted.

When they first met, he’d claimed it wasn’t safe, and although Stan had never found a reason to distrust his partner, he’d agreed. Nowadays, he wasn’t so sure. Whenever he asked, there was always a new reason: it was dangerous, not a social event, not  _ proper _ . Kite always worried about something going wrong, even though Stan couldn’t possibly imagine what that something might be, and each time he decided it was because Kite just didn’t trust him enough.

The thought hurt. He’d trust Kite with his life. A thousand times over, he always would.

“So… tweaks?”

Stan blinked his thoughts away and glanced up at Kite. There was something in his expression that Stan couldn’t place, but the little smile looked almost apologetic. Almost.

“Oh, yeah,” Stan said, slowly. “The firing rate was a little slower than it could’ve been so I was rewiring a couple bits.”

Kite hummed his approval, and Stan turned his head away before Kite could see the pride in his eyes from his praise. 

“Need any help?” Kite offered.

Stan frowned down at the bare wires in between his fingers and thought for a moment. “Actually… do you think you could solder these?”

Kite shifted a little closer and Stan held up his hands.

Kite rolled his eyes. “Only you would turn laser eyes into a soldering torch.”

Stan just laughed and fixed Kite with his best expectant gaze.

“Fine,” Kite grumbled after a minute. “Just keep still.”

Stan did just that. He watched quietly as Kite’s hands came to steady his own, and he fixed the exposed wires with a hard stare. For a moment there was nothing, but then Stan saw the glint of red in Kite’s eyes and felt the brush of strong heat against his gloves. Kite blinked once and removed his hands, leaving Stan with one freshly soldered wire, still hot. 

“Thanks, Human Torch,” Stan grinned, teasing.

Kite huffed and Stan laughed again as he began fitting the pieces of his grappler back together. Kite took the chance to stand and stretch.

“So,” Kite said after a moment, “I did a little investigating in my own free time today, actually. About the cube.”

“The one that went missing?”

“Yeah. I’m worried about it,” Kite admitted with a frown.

Stan considered him for a moment. “Why?”

Kite sighed. “Just a feeling. The Coon insisted it doesn’t do anything but… why’d someone steal it from him, then?”

“You think he’s lying?” Stan asked.

Kite snorted. “He’s  _ always  _ lying. I meant more along the lines of why lie about this specifically. Especially if it could be dangerous.”

“He’s probably just embarrassed,” Stan suggested. 

The final piece of the grappler clicked back into place and he returned it to his belt, regarding it with one final pat. Kite’s hand was in front of him without any prompting, and Stan took it happily, letting Kite pull him to his feet. 

“He should be,” Kite rolled his eyes. “But if it’s dangerous he should also be asking for help in getting it back.”

Stan paused, realization dawning on him. “You want to go talk to him, don’t you?”

Kite didn’t acknowledge the nervousness behind Stan’s words. He folded his arms and nodded sharply, once.

Stan sighed. “Dude. I know you aren’t a masochist, so  _ why _ ?”

Kite grit his teeth and scowled. “Shed, this cube could be dangerous! We can’t afford to let him be an idiot about it!”

Stan’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Kite was right, of course, but that didn’t make the suggestion any easier. The Coon, quite frankly, was the most annoying vigilante Stan had ever met. He didn’t even use the word hero to refer to the guy, as it felt like an insult to genuine heroes everywhere. 

Still, if Stan didn’t like The Coon, then Kite  _ hated  _ him. Put them in the same room and there was bound to be a fight—usually not physical, Stan thanked every deity he could think of—and still Kite always insisted on interacting with the vigilante in one way or another. For the greater good, Kite always claimed and Stan privately agreed. That didn’t mean he had to like calming Kite down after every encounter, though.

“Fine,” Stan conceded. “We’ll go. But I’m doing the talking this time.”

Kite’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, but Stan met the glare easily, daring Kite to challenge him when they both knew how Kite’s temper usually went. Finally, Kite hissed out a breath through his teeth and agreed.

“Fine.”

“Cool. Let’s get this over with as soon as possible then.”

“Please,” Kite begged, and reached up to pull his goggles back on. Stan watched him and was struck by a sudden idea.

“Hey,” he said, catching Kite’s attention. “Wanna race there?”

Kite raised one eyebrow at him. “Shed, I can  _ fly _ .”

“So?”

“So it’ll hardly be fair,” Kite continued.

“You sound pretty confident, dude,” Stan smirked, knowing that Kite would rise to the taunt. 

“Fine, we can race,” Kite returned the smirk. “Since you wanna be beaten so badly.”

Stan huffed. “We’ll see about that.”

If he was being honest, Stan knew there was no way he could beat Kite in a race, especially if the other was flying. But still, he wanted Kite in as good a mood as possible if they were going to meet with The Coon. 

Well… he wanted Kite in a good mood all the time. But  _ especially _ now.

“Ready?” Kite asked him as they lined up on the edge of the roof. 

Stan nodded, one hand hovering by his grappler.

“Ok… Go!”

Stan leapt immediately, but the powerful surge of wind on his back told him Kite had already launched into the air. Not a moment later, Kite shot through the air and overtook him, slowing ahead just long enough to flip around and give Stan a lazy wave.

Stan shook his head and aimed his grappler at the roof of a nearby, taller building. As he sailed through the air, he saw Kite making lazy maneuvers in the air ahead, sweeping this way and that on the invisible currents of the wind. It reminded Stan of the first time they had met, when a bright streak of red had caught his eye as it raced through the sky. It was one of his favorite memories, no matter how recent it was.

Stan landed on the roof with a huff and ran to the next edge, eyes darting around to map out a good path. He took a deep breath, vision focusing ahead of him. He heard Kite call something but couldn’t make out what.

The next rooftop, he stumbled on the landing. 

Kite’s voice was louder now, but Stan heard it as if through a heavy fog. His vision wasn’t focusing, but tunneling, and his breath was coming faster now, like he couldn’t actually breathe. He felt like something was dragging him, or squeezing him, and he knew all at once that he wasn’t dying but he wasn’t  _ existing  _ either. 

He stumbled off the edge of the roof and watched as he fell. His arms reached out, for what he wasn’t sure—probably Kite—but they were vanishing before his eyes. Dissolving, or fading. He blinked once, twice, and then all he saw was black.

 

When he finally opened his eyes again, his lungs felt empty and he gasped for air. He was on the ground, in the sunlight, in a clearing surrounded by trees. And, standing above him, was a person with wide, shocked eyes… and an unmistakable head of bright red hair.

Their eyes met and Stan’s heart fluttered with relief, but instead of recognition those familiar brown-green eyes narrowed into a glare and Stan’s heart stopped.


	2. Chapter 2

As a rule, Stanley Marshwalker did not go looking for trouble.

Instead, he’d found that over the years trouble had an uncanny ability to come find him. Or, more likely, that trouble was out to get his King, and he just happened to be in the way. This was why, when he opened his eyes to a landscape that was definitely not the Elven Forest, he was more disconcerted than surprised.

The last thing he remembered, he’d been alone in the forest with his King. They’d ditched the extra guards—an unnecessary formality, at least in the heart of the forest—and found a quiet clearing where they could talk. Stan could tell from the tight-knit brows and hunched shoulders that his King had something on his mind that was troubling him. He’d wanted his advice.

Now, staring up above him from his position prone on the ground, Stanley felt a seed of worry begin to creep through his veins. The sky was dark, though there was hardly a star to be seen. The ground beneath him was hard and grey, like the towering buildings all around him, and from them glowed bright yellow lights, more like magic than fire. He’d never seen anything like it, not even in the human realms. 

As he stared up at the lights and the dark sky, he noticed a figure flickering overhead. It was like a shadow spiraling above him—a bird? He watched in silence, mystified, until a sudden wind picked up and brushed his cheek and he realized the figure was getting closer. 

His hands scrabbled on the rough ground beneath him, scraping harshly against the skin as he tried to push himself to a standing, combat-ready position. His fingers brushed against his sword, lying on the ground nearby, but it clattered away in the wind, which was quickly whipping up into a violent vortex. Stanley staggered to his feet, barely, when the figure—human, he noticed vaguely—landed in the center of the raging storm and a particularly strong blast of wind knocked him back down. 

It was hard to breathe with the wind so strong, and Stanley tried to roll away, towards his sword, but there was something coiling around his limbs, tightening, and he stopped struggling before it immobilized him completely beyond escape.

When the wind died down, Stanley was restrained and looking up at a pair of too-familiar brown-green eyes.

“...Your Highness?”

It was his King, beyond a doubt. The same hair, the same face, the same eyes. They stared at him through the darkness, sharp and piercing, as his features folded into a severe frown. Stanley took him in, feeling relieved, but…

“What are you wearing?”

The frown deepened into a scowl, and suddenly Stanley was being shoved back into the ground, hard. The relief vanished, and Stanley searched his King’s eyes in panic, finding nothing but anger and suspicion. 

There was  _ definitely _ something wrong here.

“Um, Your Highness, are you—”

A sudden sharp tug against the rope cut Stanley off.

“Why do you keep calling me that? Is this some sort of fucking joke?”

Stanley blinked. At this point, he was completely confused, and his confidence that he wouldn’t be hurt was slowly starting to fade. The person in front of him looked just like his King, there was no mistaking it, but there was no recognition in his eyes, no kindness. Rather than robes, he had on some sort of sleek, stylized costume, and rather than a crown some type of eyewear. Perhaps, if he did not respond to the title…?

Stanley licked his lips and spoke slowly. “Your Hi—Kyle, listen—”

If Stanley thought Kyle had been angry before, he was furious now. He pulled him close, until they were face to face, and practically growled, “How the fuck do you know my name?”

Stanley stared at him, incredulous. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Stanley recognized the way Kyle’s brow twitched. It only ever did that when he was trying to restrain violence, and the indication was not very comforting. He tried to move his hands to placate him, but the ropes refused to budge. 

“I’ve never told you— _ anybody _ —my name,” Kyle hissed. “Who are you?”

Stanley frowned. “My name is—”

“Stop!”

Stanley closed his mouth instantly at the command. Kyle looked frustrated, panicked almost. He could almost feel the way his mind must be racing.

After a careful moment where Kyle regarded him through narrowed eyes, he asked, “Are you Toolshed?”

“No, I’m—”

“But you look  _ just _ like him,” Kyle said, cutting him off once again. Stanley suppressed a sigh. Whoever this was, he still had all of his King’s small habits.

Kyle’s grip on him loosened and when he spoke again, his voice was calmer. “How do you know my name?”

Stanley wanted to reply: how couldn’t he? But somehow he thought the answer might get him in trouble, so he thought for a moment before he replied, “We grew up together. I’ve officially served you for ten years, been your second-in-command for six, we were betrothed last year—”

Kyle let go of his grip completely, and Stanley fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He groaned in pain and wondered distantly if he’d ever get to finish a full sentence again. 

“Ok, seriously, who the fuck are you?”

From his position lying on the ground, Stanley grumbled, “If you’ll let me  _ finish _ … my name is Stanley Marshwalker.”

There was a long pause where Stanley stared at his sword, still out of reach, and tried to quell the dull throb in the back of his skull. Finally, Kyle spoke.

“What kind of name is Marshwalker?”

“A family name,” Stanley replied instantly, “my ancestors lived on—”

“A marsh, I’m guessing?” Kyle said, and Stanley could practically hear the eye-roll. “Not my point. What’d you do with Toolshed?”

“I don’t know who Toolshed is,” Stanley said, nothing but truthful. It seems Kyle’s anger had passed, and now all he wanted was answers. Stanley had no reason not to give them to him.

“So Toolshed disappears, and the  _ moment  _ he’s gone somebody who looks just like him and also happens to know my identity shows up in his place? Sorry if I have a hard time believing you.”

“That’s all right,” Stanley retorted before he could help himself. He definitely deserved the sharp nudge of a boot in his side. 

“You know, if you’re trying to pass yourself off as Shed you’re doing a terrible job. First of all, we’ve hardly known each other a year, and second we’re… none of what you said,” Kyle finished, somewhat lamely, and Stanley snorted.

“I wasn’t trying to,” he retorted, shifting so he could roll onto his back and look up at Kyle again. When their eyes met, Kyle’s flickered away. Stanley paused.

“Toolshed,” Stanley tested the name on his tongue, “you said he looks just like me?”

“No, you look just like  _ him _ ,” Kyle snapped.

“Fine,” Stanley conceded impatiently. “Do we share any other traits?”

Kyle stared down at him appraisingly before shaking his head. “I’m not sure.”

Stanley sighed. “Kyle…”

“Don’t call me that,” Kyle bristled.

Stanley arched one eyebrow. “But it’s your name,” he stated.

“Just don’t,” Kyle insisted, “Shed doesn’t.”

“I’m not Shed.”

“I don’t—I know that! But still…”

Kyle fell silent after that, and Stanley lowered his head back to the ground. 

“Can you untie me?” Stanley tried asking instead. 

Kyle stared at him.

“I don’t mean you any harm,” he pressed.

“You couldn’t hurt me even if you tried,” Kyle mumbled instantly.

Stanley wondered if he should just resign himself to the ropes indefinitely, but suddenly there was a bright red glow, a flash of heat against his skin, and the ropes fell away. His chest expanded as he was finally allowed to breathe fully. He pushed himself to a more comfortable sitting position and appraised the light wounds on his palms.

“Thanks,” he said absently, nodding in Kyle’s direction. 

Stanley heard him moving around, mumbling under his breath, probably pacing. He did that sometimes. And, if Stanley knew him like he thought he did, the pacing was usually followed by—

“All right, Marshwalker,” Kyle said, firm. A declaration, just like Stanley thought. He lifted his eyes and saw the fire burning in Kyle’s gaze. “You’re gonna help me figure out what the fuck happened to Shed and help me get him back.”

Stanley nodded. “Sure.”

Kyle’s posture faltered a bit. “Just like that?” he asked, hesitant. 

“Of course. You’re different but… still Kyle. I can tell. And I swore my loyalty to you, both as your royal servant and as your beloved, so that—”

“Ok! Great, great,” Kyle spoke quickly, his face as red as his hair. “That’s good. Thanks.”

Stanley considered this different Kyle, undoubtedly flustered, and smiled. His King hadn’t been this embarrassed around him in a long time. It was nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in one day, plz help me.


	3. Chapter 3

Stan knew when he’d first signed up to try and be a hero that weird things were bound to happen.

For instance, meeting Kite—much less forming a partnership with the guy—had been weird enough on its own. Decidedly good, but still  _ weird _ . And that wasn’t even counting the whole cast of so-called heroes and villains they’d met since. But that first meeting with Kite paled in comparison to the situation Stan found himself in now.

Stan had always held onto the hope that even if Kite never told him his name that there would be a day, while he was at work or out in the city, when he’d see that signal-flare red hair or that pair of unforgettable eyes standing apart from the crowd and he’d just  _ know  _ it was his partner. That they’d meet each other’s gaze and the whole charade would be over and they’d know, that their lives could finally intertwine the way he’d always wished it could. He’d cross the street, or the shop’s floor, or wade through a sea of strangers, and hold out his hand and introduce himself as Stan Marsh, and ask with a grin if maybe they’d already met somewhere before. 

Sometimes he was embarrassed to admit how much he’d dreamed about it.

Now, however, Stan wasn’t sure how this was supposed to go.

The face in front of him was Kite’s face, but that was where the similarities stopped. In his dreams, there was no forest, no vague nausea still washing over him in waves. In his dreams, Kite was in a simple outfit, a shirt and maybe a pair of too-tight jeans—Stan dared anyone to try and deny how well Kite wore slim fits—but this Kite was in long robes of rich red and gold, an elaborate wreath of twigs and budding flowers perched atop his head. 

And holy shit, his ears.

They were pointy. Like something straight out of fantasy. Sleek, elegant,  _ elven _ . Stan wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, so he settled on blatant staring.

The vines had coiled all around him before he could even react.

“State your name.”

Stan’s eyes widened. This version of Kite was addressing him, towering over him with a voice, a sheer presence, that demanded authority. If someone took Kite’s rage and passion, distilled it and gave it direction… this is what Stan would imagine it to be.

He had no idea how to respond. 

“Toolshed? Um, Stan Marsh.”

The vines around him writhed, he could feel the thorns digging into his costume, and he swore the air around maybe-Kite glowed. One vine in particular coiled around his right shirt sleeve and Stan yelped as it tore the fabric away. Kite knelt down and grasped his exposed arm in a firm hold. He stared down at it for a moment and when he looked up again his eyes burned.

“Liar!”

Stan flinched, wished he could back away, but there was nowhere to run. 

“What kind of magic is this? What have you done with him?” Kite demanded. He was practically radiating power. Even the air itself rippled around him.

“With who?” Stan gasped the question through the discomfort of the ever-tightening vines.

“Don’t toy with me!” Kite threatened, “If this is your doing, Wizard, you’ll soon regret it.”

The vines were squeezing so tight Stan was finding it harder and harder to breathe right. The thorns scratched at his exposed skin and he allowed himself a moment to wince, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth.

All at once, the vines loosened.

Kite was still kneeling in front of him, one hand wrapped around his arm, but his face looked pained. An expression of guilt flickered in his eyes, and his frown softened into something Stan couldn’t quite understand. He looked… scared? Stan didn’t like it.

He tried to free one of his arms, wanted to reach out and assure this Kite that everything was ok, but the moment he moved the gentleness in Kite’s eyes was gone, replaced by a scowl.

“You aren’t him,” he snapped. “Just a dirty trick.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” Stan tried to insist. “Please, just let me explain.”

Kite’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t speak, so Stan took that as permission.

“This is going to sound impossible,” Stan began nervously, forcing a chuckle, “but I was with you. Or, someone who looks just like you. I call him Kite. It was night and we were racing over buildings and… Nothing happened that I know of but I felt dizzy, suddenly, I think I passed out? And then the next time I opened my eyes, I was here.”

It sounded ridiculous even to himself, and counted the seconds until Kite’s inevitable next accusation.

But none came.

Silently, Kite withdrew from him and stood up. He began pacing in a small circle, hands clasped behind his back, and every so often he shot a suspicious glance in Stan’s direction. Stan wasn’t sure to make of it and chewed his lip nervously. He watched the way the grass rustled with every sweep of Kite’s robes and thought longingly of wind brushing through his hair. 

“Stan Marsh.”

Stan startled to attention and sat up straighter. Kite’s gaze was fixed on him again.

“That was your name?”

Stan nodded.

“Before you… arrived, I was here with someone who looked almost precisely like you. You share similar names as well.”

“Is that the person you kept mentioning?” Stan asked, frowning.

Kite hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” he admitted. “Stanley Marshwalker.”

Stan shifted and tried his best to keep the growing nerves out of his voice when he continued, “And you are?”

Kite’s lips pressed together in a thin line and his head tilted slightly to one side, considering. “You may call me Kyle,” he said. 

It was a guarded response, but still Stan’s heart raced. Kyle. A real name to the face—even if it wasn’t quite the same one. He couldn’t help the thought that crossed his mind; it suited him.

Stan closed his eyes and tried to refocus his thoughts. There was still a lot he didn’t know, so much to figure out and hardly anything to go off of. “And where exactly am I?”

Kite—Kyle—glanced around at the forest. “The Elven Kingdom,” he answered. “We’re currently in the heart of the ancient woodlands.”

Stan opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it again. The  _ what _ ? 

“You look alarmed,” Kyle observed when it was clear that Stan could not gather the words to speak.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” Stan said, his voice high. He felt faint. “I’ve never heard of any of that in my life. Elves don’t even exist where I’m from.”

Kyle didn’t look impressed. “I think it’s pretty clear that we do in fact exist,” he replied evenly. 

Stan did his best to suppress his exasperated groan. The tone was a bit distant, maybe even mocking, but in the end he was just relieved that most of Kyle’s suspicion and murderous rage seemed to have disappeared.

“And where are you from, Stan, if you’ve never learned of elves?” Kyle asked.

Stan knitted his brows together and thought. “Denver?” he said carefully. When Kyle still looked confused, he sighed and said instead, “America?”

Kyle blinked. “I’ve never heard of such a place before.”

The news, while disturbing, did not necessarily surprise him. He’d felt there was something strange  ever since he’d seen Kyle’s ears in the first place, and this was just the last straw of evidence that something was seriously, terribly wrong. He sighed.

This was going to be a nightmare, he could already tell.

But at least he’d finally learned Kyle’s name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you're screwed when you have like 8 pages of notes so far for this fic... fjaklfjadf


	4. Chapter 4

Stanley was quick to notice another aspect of this other Kyle that hadn’t changed: his ability to walk insanely fast, and with aggressive purpose.

“Your Highness.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

Stanley bit his lip and hurried his own pace. He’d have time later to marvel at the impossibly tall buildings and strange vehicles, but Kyle was his only guide in this strange new place and he didn’t want to lose him.

“My apologies, Kyle.”

Kyle paused just long enough to shoot a glare over his shoulder and snapped, “Don’t call me that either! I told you, it’s Kite. Human Kite.”

Stanley frowned. “I remember, he said, “but it’s not a very regal name. Is it?”

“It’s not supposed to be,” Kyle—he could think of him as nothing other than Kyle, no matter the insistence—responded shortly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a very regal person.”

Stanley reached out and grasped Kyle by the arm, pulling him to a stop so he could finally look him in the eyes. Alarmed, Stanley implored, “But you’re a king!”

Kyle’s expression was guarded. He pulled his arm back and Stanley let go, suddenly realizing how he must have overstepped himself. Who was he to decide who this Kyle was or was not, when in truth he had no clue? There had just been something in the way Kyle spoke—the blatant disbelief masked by humor, the sting of the self-deprication—that Stanley had reacted to, almost instinctively. That this Kyle could so easily doubt the image of himself commanding respect… 

Stanley hated it.

“We don’t have kings here,” Kyle replied, his voice even, and Stanley wondered if he had sensed his distress. “So instead I’m just Kite. And you should learn to call me that.”

Without waiting for a response, Kyle turned on his heel and continued his hurried pace down the dark, empty streets. Stanley was quick to follow him.

“Where are we going?” he asked, when it was clear that Kyle was not interested in starting conversation on his own.

“Somewhere safe,” Kyle answered vaguely. “There’s a lot we have to sort out before we can actually start doing anything.”

This didn’t really tell Stanley anything, but he allowed it without seeking further explanation. He trusted that Kyle would explain further soon enough, as was usually the case. 

Eventually, Kyle stopped them near the site of a large, single-story building on the outskirts of town. They came to a halt at a tall fence that blocked the path further in to the facility, and Kyle started giving him a sideways glance. 

“Do you think you can climb this?” he asked.

Stanley considered it. It seemed to be made out of some sort of chain, so there were plenty of holes where he could conceivably find a solid grip, but the top of the fence was decorated with sharp metal. He shook his head and heard Kyle let out a sigh.

“I am willing to try, if this is the only way through,” Stanley offered, though he was less than enthused about the wounds he’d no doubt receive at the end.

“No,” Kyle said, “it’s fine. I have another idea but, I don’t want you to freak out about it.”

Stanley tilted his head, curious.

Kyle groaned and shook himself. “Look, it’s not entirely uncommon around here for people to have certain, well, powers. You might have seen a bit of mine?”

Stanley considered the image of a figure gliding through the air, or the feeling of sudden red heat against his skin.

“I can control the wind, basically,” Kyle continued with a grimace. “It’s how I fly, among other things. I know it sounds weird but—”

“I’m not surprised, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Stanley interrupted him, confused as to Kyle’s growing state of agitation. “You’ve always been skilled with magic, ever since we were children.”

“It’s not magic!” Kyle snapped, suddenly defensive. His face was turning red again and Stanley blinked.

“It’s not?”

“Definitely not. Just… powers, they’re special powers,” he said, sharply and still flustered.

“If that’s what you call them,” Stanley replied carefully. 

Stanley added an impressive death glare to the list of similarities between this Kyle and his own.

“Anyways,” Kyle hissed, “My  _ point _ is, just don’t flail around and you’ll be fine.”

Stanley nodded, and then suddenly he felt the full force of the wind swirling around him.

The sensation was almost overwhelming, at least at first. Stanley had to admit that it did indeed feel different than magic, at least the kind his own Kyle practiced. The King’s air magic was powerful, sure, but when you paid attention you could feel the spell woven into it, a faint buzzing that charmed nature to its whims, a piece of the King’s spirit present within it. 

This however, was all force. Sheer, powerful, and untamed. It bent at the knees rather than swayed and within a moment Stanley found himself lifted into the air, feeling the wind press against him from all sides, plucking him up by the back of his cape and pushing him by his feet all at once. Kyle remained motionless, undisturbed on the ground, but his gaze remained fixed and unblinking on him as he was carried above the top of the fence and just as easily placed down on the other side. 

Stanley was still regaining his own footing on solid ground when the wind rustled once more and, with a single swoop, Kyle was standing next to him. He was grinning, the first real smile Stanley had seen on his face, and he could not help but return it. He had already begun to miss the way Kyle smiled, especially at him.

“Just like magic,” Stanley offered, not bothering to mask the mischief dancing in his eyes.

“You’re lucky that’s an expression or I’d hit you,” Kyle threatened, though the smile still remained.

Stanley chuckled, soft and fond. “You could certainly try.”

It was impossible to miss the way one of Kyle’s eyebrows quirked up, or the way his eyes narrowed that one fraction of an inch.

“That’s kind of a part of the plan,” Kyle said, and even Stanley was surprised. Kyle looked pleased at his startled expression and smirked. “But we’ll get to that later. First, let’s head inside.”

Kyle headed towards the large building and gestured with a wave for Stanley to follow. He did, somewhat more hesitant than before, because regardless of who this Kyle was he knew he’d make good on his promise. Kyle never made plans he didn’t intend to follow through with.

They reached a heavy door in the side of the building and Kyle pushed it open, leading the way inside. Stanley stepped in after him, somewhat unsure, and allowed his gaze to sweep appraisingly over the dim interior.

The first thing he noticed was that it was surprisingly cluttered, but only in the small corner of the building by the door. All kinds of tools and strange metal objects laid strewn about on the floor, or on large work tables, and even on the unkempt seating pushed up against the wall. There were papers stacked up high on the tables as well, and pictures tacked up on the far wall. 

“This is your home?” Stanley asked, concern slipping through in his voice. It was lackluster, sparse, and seemed like it had been hastily scrapped together over time.

Kyle barked out a quick laugh. “No, it’s more like a base, or a quick hideout.”

“For supplies?” Stanley guessed, looking over at all the various tools he didn’t recognize.

“Sort of,” Kyle shrugged. “Just a place for Shed and I to go, for anything really. We only set it up a couple months ago. His equipment malfunctioned in a fight and nearly gave me a heart attack so I figured this was a better place to lay low than a rooftop.”

Stanley hummed. “That seems wise.”

“Yeah,” Kyle snorted. “And I’m glad for it now, so we can get you sorted out.”

“You mentioned that earlier,” Stanley noted, “but I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Dude, you look  _ exactly  _ like Shed, and around here if you keep going around claiming to be Marshwalker and wearing—” Kyle paused to look over his outfit, staring pointedly at the metal armor and cape, “—whatever that is, people are going to get suspicious, and that’s gonna be a problem.”

“You want me to disguise myself,” Stanley realized. “As your Toolshed.”

“At least for now,” Kyle said. “We don’t know if it’ll be a problem yet or not, but at the very least I don’t want people thinking Shed is out of the picture, or they might get ideas.”

“All right,” Stanley agreed. “If you think it would be a good decision.”

Kyle folded his arms in front of him. “I do. But I don’t want to put you in his costume without knowing if you can defend yourself first. Shed and I have… enemies, or at least there are people who definitely wouldn’t mind seeing Shed get hurt.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Stanley said with confidence. He’d trained all of his life to defend Kyle, and to fight by his side. If he was one thing he was sure he could do, it was that.

Kyle shook his head. “You sound confident, but I’ll be the judge of that. I don’t want to risk anything,” he said, and Stanley finally realized what Kyle had been promising a few minutes earlier.

Stanley frowned, suddenly on edge. “You want to fight.”

The teasing smirk Kyle gave him in response was almost familiar enough to hurt. “I hope you’re not scared,” he jabbed, playful, but Stanley could see the glint of real concern in his eyes. He had a choice in this, after all.

“I’m not,” he answered. “I earned my place as your second-in-command for a reason, you know.”

Kyle nodded and led him out to the empty side of the building.

“Then show me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised I'm making a little announcement here about the update schedule for this fic, seeing as how its going full-on story and I have no power to stop it. As of now I can't really give you a length estimation (I'll make another announcement when I officially figure that out), but I've decided there will be at least one chapter out every week, on Thursday nights EST. 
> 
> This isn't to say there won't be more (feedback is an extremely powerful motivator and just in general makes me super happy) but unfortunately I am a very tired college student and that means final papers and tests are upon me for the immediate future (and I'd like to not fail things if I can xD). So please, let me know what you think, and expect chapter 5 this Thursday <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here we are! Happy Thursday everyone <3 (or whatever day if you're not reading this on Thursday~)

“Tell me about Denver.”

Stan sat on the ground in front of Kyle, gently pressing one hand against the scratch on his arm. Kyle had retracted the vines, and the thorns along with it, but promised he’d summon them back without hesitation if Stan so much as even thought about trying to run. He wasn’t too excited about that idea himself, considering he was stuck in the middle of a forest that was supposedly full of elves.

He’d stick with Kyle, who was at least a little bit familiar in a land of otherwise complete unknowns. 

This Kyle wasn’t his  _ friend,  _ exactly, but Stan couldn’t help but trust him anyways. If he was anything like Kite—which from Stan’s understanding of Kite, he was—then he was a good person, and he’d do the right thing.

Stan plucked at a piece of grass and frowned. “Denver? It's a city, pretty big too. Um, kind of a mess right now, it's a big battleground for new heroes and villains. What do you want to know?”

“Is it safe?”

Stan blinked. He knew a lot about the city, having grown up in the area and lived there his entire life. He knew all the facts: the number of people, the sports teams, the best place to find cheap take-out. But he hadn’t been expecting a question like that.

“It depends,” he replied slowly. 

Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “On what?”

“Where you are, who you meet, things like that,” Stan answered.

“And where were you, before you arrived here?”

Stan’s mouth opened slightly and he realized why Kyle had been pressing so hard. “I was with Kite,” he said, and took notice of the slight way in which Kyle’s shoulders eased at the information. 

“And what were you two doing?”

“Nothing, really,” Stan shrugged. “We were just on our way to look into something. It was a pretty quiet night.”

Kyle nodded and Stan guessed he must have been satisfied with the answer, because he fell silent and turned his attention to Stan’s tool belt, which was lying on the ground between them. Kyle had stripped it off him before he’d let him out of the vines, and Stan hadn’t wanted to admit how bare it made him feel to feel it missing from his waist. 

Kyle’s fingers traced over the edge of one of the tools and Stan let out an involuntary gasp.

Kyle froze and his eyes snapped up.

“Careful,” Stan breathed. “I fight with those.”

“So they’re weapons?” Kyle asked, eying them with newfound suspicion. 

“Tools,” Stan corrected on instinct. “Not all of them are for doing damage.”

“How do they work?”

Stan wasn’t sure what to say. He’d never imagined a scenario where he’d have to explain power tools to an elf—did they even share the same words to talk about mechanics?

“They’re designed to do certain things when you press a button,” Stan said, deciding that simpler was probably better.

Kyle didn’t look impressed.

“I sense energy from them,” he said, returning his hand to the tools. “A power source?”

“Electricity,” Stan answered. “I can show you, if you want?”

Kyle hesitated for only a moment before he plucked a tool out of the belt and handed it over, an expectant look on his face. Stan took it from him and grinned—it was one of his favorites.

“This one’s called a power drill,” he said, twisting off the drill bit. “I made a couple changes though.”

Almost absentmindedly, he held out his other hand, reaching for his tool belt. Kyle blinked but handed it over anyways. Stan dug around in one of the pouches and pulled out a different attachment, as well as a short length of rope.

“I came up with the idea for this one because of Kite, since he likes to keep moving in a fight,” Stan explained, fitting the attachment into place. Threading the rope around it, he continued, “Neither of us have great restraining powers, but we don’t want to hurt anyone more than we need to. Here, hold this.”

Stan pushed the power drill into Kyle’s hands and scrambled to his feet, one end of the rope still clutched tight in his hand. He ran over to a nearby tree and tied it around the trunk, leaving plenty of slack so it trailed on the ground. 

“Ok, now press the button.”

Kyle glanced down at the tool in his hands and paused for a moment before he found what Stan was talking about. He pressed it down with his thumb and tried not to startle when the tool made a loud whir of noise. The slack rope tied to the tree snapped taut immediately, and Stan beamed.

He prodded it with a finger to demonstrate the tension and said, “So we feed Kite’s rope into here and he flies around like usual and attaches it to someone, and when I see a good chance a pull it tight and bring them down. It’s really good for dealing with regular criminals, people without powers and stuff.”

“I see,” Kyle replied. “So electricity is your term for object-manipulating magic?”

Stan laughed. “We just call it science, but I guess they’re pretty similar in some ways.”

Kyle nodded at the tool belt, “So they all work like that?”

“More or less,” Stan shrugged, and went about untying the rope and coiling it back up. “Those vine things were magic?”

“Correct.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be a plant magic kind of person,” Stan said. He caught Kyle staring at him and looked away quickly, adding, “Kite controls the wind, so I guess I’d just been expecting that instead. Plants are cool though.”

Suddenly the leaves around them began to rustle, and a powerful gust of wind raced through the clearing. Stan, caught off guard, toppled over and landed on his back.

Kyle’s face appeared in his vision, hovering above him. There was an unmistakable smirk there that Stan recognized almost immediately, from when Kite liked to mess with him the same way.

“Not just plants,” Kyle commented easily, and then held out his hand.

Stan took it and allowed Kyle to pull him back to his feet. “Noted,” he grumbled half-heartedly, pleased at the slight breath of laughter he got in return. His heart ached when he thought about it.

“So you think your Stanley is with Kite?” He asked, only belatedly regretting the way Kyle’s face fell back to blank at the change of subject.

“I do,” he agreed, and Stan sighed. “From your explanations, it seems likely that he’s in your world, as you are now in ours.”

“I’ve seen some pretty weird things since I decided to be a hero,” Stan groaned, “But  _ literally switching worlds? _ What could even do that? And why us?”

Kyle frowned. “I don’t know,” he said, folding his arms in front of him.

Immediately, Stan got the impression that Kyle wasn’t saying everything he could. Did he know something? And if he did, why wasn’t he sharing it?

Stan hesitated before voicing his next question. “Do you think there’s a way to fix it?”

Kyle’s eyes flashed. “We’ll find one,” he said, so firmly it was almost harsh. 

Stan nodded, a bit dazed. His thoughts drifted to Kite and he couldn’t help but feel nervous, wondering if he’d ever see him again. He wanted to tell him about this Kyle, that in this world he was an elf and didn’t know about electricity and used magic instead, but still managed to knock him off his feet with all the force of a hurricane. That they smiled the same and laughed the same, commanded the very air they breathed the same. 

He wanted to ask if their names were the same too.

Kyle’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“If not, we’ll make one,” Kyle said, and it was softer this time, his slight smile vulnerable when he offered it to Stan, trying to comfort him. 

Stan didn’t know how Kyle planned to make a way to move between worlds, but he wanted to believe him nonetheless. This world, whatever it was, was full of magic and forces he didn’t know. But maybe—hopefully—Kyle did.

“I’ll follow you, then,” Stan replied. He’d trust this Kyle the same way he trusted Kite.

Something in Kyle’s expression flickered then, like pain and warmth all at once. He smiled, nodded, and gestured for Stan to follow him.

“It seems we have a lot of work to do,” he said, allowing the lightness of a joke to seep into his voice. “I guess for now your Kite and I will just have to put up with having a different version of our lovers.”

Stan nearly stumbled over his feet when he heard Kyle’s words. His heartbeat skyrocketed and he fixed Kyle with an incredulous look, not quite believing what he’d heard.

“Your  _ what? _ ”

Kyle gave him a curious glance. “Is that not your term for it?” He asked, far too innocently for Stan to handle.

He could feel himself blushing and had to look away, unsure how to deal with the heat in his face. He felt like he should say something but the words got stuck in his throat. The universe had to be playing a joke on him.

A panicked thought flashed through his mind and he stopped breathing altogether.

Oh god. What was Kite going to think?


	6. Chapter 6

Stanley had not anticipated that he would go into this sparring match with anything other than the utmost confidence.

It was surprising. 

Stanley had his sword, but despite the fact that Kite had no visible weapon of his own he looked entirely unconcerned. Had Stanley been a coward he might have claimed to be intimidated by the determination burning in Kite’s eyes, but there was more to it than that. 

It was a challenge, and he was more than willing to match it.

“Ok, ground rules: no stabbing.”

Stanley glanced down at his sword, still sheathed by his side, and frowned at Kite. “I was not planning to,” he said unhappily.

“Just making sure,” Kite shrugged. “This isn’t about hurting each other.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Stanley replied quickly.

“I’m going to pretend there isn’t a sarcastic way to interpret that.”

Stanley was not sure why Kite was inclined in the first place to think it was. He made a short note of it in his mind, perhaps as something necessary to bring up later, but for the moment their duel was more important. 

“Until the other is proven defeated, then,” Stanley said, and Kite nodded.

Stanley drew his sword, feeling the familiar yet gentle hum of energy coursing into him through the handle, dancing across his fingertips. It had been a gift, a special rite afforded to him upon completion of his training. No other blade possessed quite the same blessing, and no other would until he relinquished his claim to it or he died. 

It was almost a comfort to Stanley, that despite the extreme distance, the blade still carried within it the pulse of his King: his magic and his very lifeforce. He could feel it when he closed his eyes, like a steady heartbeat that echoed against his own. It was meant to tell the Kingsguard when his life was in danger, to give them the knowledge and the strength so they could give their lives for his own. 

Stanley also liked to believe it was so they could know that Kyle was always with them.

“Ready?” Kite asked.

He steadied his breath and replied, “Whenever you are.”

Kite tipped his head and the two of them stared at each other for one long, uncertain moment. Stanley allowed the apprehension within him to settle and eased deeper into his stance, waiting.

Kite pulled his goggles down over his eyes with a tight snap.

“Ok,” he said, “now.”

Stanley had been expecting the wind, but the sudden rush of the currents still caught him off-guard and sent him staggering to brace against it. He’d been forced to look down and pay attention to his footing, and immediately he realized that had been Kite’s plan all along. When Stanley looked up, past the hair whipping wildly about him, Kite was gone.

He knew searching would be pointless, so he stood still and waited instead. 

The winds shifted.

At the last moment Stanley turned to face behind him, sword raised to meet the blur of color streaking towards him. He prepared to lunge, but Kite was quicker, and with another sudden yank from the wind he veered off sharply to the side, swooping in a wide arc to slow down.

“Damn,” Kite cursed, touching down lightly on the ground a safe distance away.

“I felt you funneling the currents towards me,” Stanley offered by way of explanation. 

“No shit.”

Deciding it was best to press the advantage while he could, Stanley rushed to close the distance between them. He could feel the winds pushing and prodding against him as he ran, but they were weak, nowhere near as powerful as the initial blast at the start of the fight. Was Kite tired—or planning something?

The safest plan was a quick transition into a chop, enough to test Kite’s defense but not enough to expose himself for too long if he’d need to counter. Kite hardly moved as he approached, just shifted back on his feet—a counter of his own?

Stanley brought his sword down just as Kite’s image blurred, and a sudden recoil reverberated its way painfully up his leading arm. 

It was like he’d struck an invisible wall made of air.

Kite’s voice reached him as if through a fan: “Condensed wind currents. Works kind of like a shield.”

Stanley retreated backwards, lowering his sword to hold in front of him. “You can make these at will?” he asked. Normal air magic was not capable of such a feat.

“Around whoever I want,” Kite added, and Stanley did not fail to pick up the small hint of pride in his voice. Not a simple feat in this world either, then.

He’d need to reconsider his approach. He’d expected that Kite would use the wind for mobility and interference, but now it was like an entity of its own, a third presence in their spar he had to learn how to break through, not simply ignore. 

“How long have you learned the sword for?” Kite asked. His image had returned to normal. No shield.

“Since I was a kid,” Stanley answered. “Twelve years, I think.”

“You’re good,” Kite said, “but I don’t know if it’s enough. Plus, Shed’s never fought with a sword before.”

Stanley grimaced. The words were too familiar for his tastes. In a realm of elves his human blood almost hadn’t been enough; in a school that prized magic simply weaponry almost hadn’t been enough; in deciding the course of the rest of his life his love almost hadn’t been enough.

Almost.

He’d proved those words wrong many times before.

Gently, he pressed one hand against the fabric covering his upper right arm. The feeling of the blessing still strong within his sword had reassured him, certain that if the sword’s magic had survived the swap then this had too. It wasn’t his, not really, but Kyle had given it to him in the quiet stillness of the night after his initiation into the Kingsguard—not a blessing from the King, but a personal gift from Kyle, just for him. 

He imagined the magic traced into his skin like runes, brought the image of air to his mind, and returned his hand to his sword. Kyle would be mad at him, but he’d decided he needed to prove himself with this.

Stanley leveled his grip and charged once more.

Kite was watching him, a slight frown on his features. Stanley knew what he must be thinking, that surely he knew better than to try to attack again, against the shield, but that was precisely what he planned to do. 

This time he brought his sword down for a lunge, and stepped forward with all his might.

His fingers tingled from the force of impact, and through the blur he thought that maybe Kite looked disappointed, like he’d been secretly hoping Stanley would win all along, or that he shouldn’t have placed faith in him in the first place.

Stanley thought once more of the runes and the air suddenly pulsed, stuttered out like a choked breath. The blurred image faded and Stanley met Kite’s surprised eyes directly as he stepped forward once more, lunging to point the tip of his sword at Kite’s throat.

He paused before he could even so much as nick the skin, but it was done.

Stanley grinned, and ignored the way that, for the briefest moment, his upper arm burned.

Kite’s expression flickered, caught between surprised, angry, and maybe—if Stanley dared to hope so—impressed. It eventually settled on a tight-lipped frown, and Stanley knew that no matter the circumstances Kyle hated to lose.

“Sorry dear,” Stanley said, his grin fading to a more subdued, bashful smile. Still pleased, but polite about it.

He’d forgotten about Kite’s intense dislike for pet names. 

Suddenly, like staring down fire, Kite’s eyes ignited red and Stanley felt from their close proximity a heat familiar to the one that had burned away the ropes binding him a few short hours ago. 

“Laser vision,” Kite informed him, no doubt taking notice of the confusion and alarm that had overtaken him. “Let’s call this a tie—and don’t call me dear.”

Stanley lowered his sword slowly, chewing his lip suddenly in discomfort. “Sorry, you remind me so much of—”

“Your version of me, yeah. I know.”

Stanley fell quiet and Kite heaved out a heavy sigh. It wasn’t necessarily difficult to wrap his head around the idea that the relationship between this version of Kyle and himself was different than the one he had with his own—after all, his own had not always been so simple—but Kite’s violent reactions towards any mention of the fact disturbed him.

He decided to brave the awkward silence and asked, “Despite your claim to work together, you don’t seem to like Toolshed very much. Are you two not very close?”

Kite nearly spluttered in surprise and Stanley merely blinked at him. Kyle had always reacted unexpectedly to things, and he’d learned to adjust to that fact long ago. 

Kite practically squawked, “What? No! We are...”

“Yet you don’t even know each other’s names?”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t care about him!”

Stanley paused to consider this, and then recalled the way Kite had looked at him during battle: hopeful, yet prepared for disappointment. 

“You don’t trust him,” he concluded aloud.

“Of course I do!” Kite snapped. “What the fuck kind of accusation is that?”

“I wasn’t accusing you,” Stanley said. “I just don’t understand. If you care for him, and trust him, why are you so opposed to the idea of you two being close?”

Kite glared at him, and in some ways it was more intense than the lasers could ever hope to be. Stanley knew he had overstepped, and was already beginning to regret it. He needed this Kyle, after all; they needed to trust each other.

“I’m not opposed,” Kite growled. There was a pause, as if he realized the rough edge to his own voice, before he took a deep breath and continued, “Look, whatever you did to dissipate my shield was pretty impressive. With powers like that, or magic or whatever, I think you’ll be fine.”

Stanley nodded, and decided to accept the peace offering in the form of a conversation change. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Kite rolled his eyes. “Let me grab Shed’s spare costume then.”

Stanley watched as Kite walked away, torn between worry and relief. He decided not to mention the magic he’d used, or how, if the burning sensation was as reliable to go by as it always had, he only had three uses of it left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent so long wondering how to make Kite's TFBW abilities into any semblance of a cohesive and explainable set of powers jfkaldjfa. We aren't even going to talk about how much longer I spent for Shed's... like your theme is cute but I can't reasonably write you trying to drill people's faces in while still taking this story seriously. Anyways... as usual, hope you enjoyed <3


	7. Chapter 7

“Here, put this on.”

The weight of Kyle’s outer robe fell onto Stan’s shoulders and Stan tried very, very hard not to focus on the sensation of fingers brushing against the back of his neck as Kyle adjusted the collar. 

The fabric was lighter than he’d been expecting, though it was still warm, pleasantly so, from the person who had been wearing it only moments before. It was soft, but awkward to move in. Stan wasn’t used to the way it flowed to the ground and pooled at his ankles. He was sure he’d catch it under his foot if he wasn’t careful.

“Now, this way.”

Stan followed after Kyle without hesitation, but he couldn’t help the anxiety that bubbled up when they left the open sunlight and safety of the clearing for the dark shadows of the forest path in front of them. In this whole unknown world, the clearing was the only place Stan really  _ knew _ , and it scared him more than he wanted to admit that he now had to leave it. 

The likelihood of finding spare batteries anywhere was extremely low as well, and what was a toolshed supposed to be without tools? 

Stan tried not to let his uncertainty seep into his voice when he asked, “Where exactly are we going?”

Kyle looked back at him over his shoulder from his place ahead on the path. In simple, loose clothing and without the robes to adorn him, he looked a lot younger, like he’d simply melted out of one of the trees, a curious traveler to keep him company in a big, empty forest. The branches twisted into a crown on his hair looked less imposing and more like something he would have made as a kid, playing pretend with his friends. 

He caught himself before he could think too much on how the word cute came to mind.

“Back to the capital,” Kyle answered. “There’s something I want to check on.”

“What, like the elf capital?” Stan asked before he could stop himself.

One of Kyle’s eyebrows quirked up.

Stan’s face colored and he looked down at the path in front of him.

Kyle’s voice was light with laughter when he said, “Yes, the elf capital.”

“So why am I wearing this?” Stan asked, grasping the folds of Kyle’s robe and flapping them for added effect.

“You don’t find your current clothing suspicious?” Kyle gestured pointedly at the array of tools around Stan’s waist. “Nevermind the fact Stanley was wearing his uniform anyways.”

Stan adjusted his toolbelt and pulled the robe tighter around him. “Right,” he said, “but won’t people find it weird that I’m wearing this thing instead?”

“Not really,” Kyle said evenly, and Stan wasn’t sure why but he got the distinct impression he was trying very hard not to smile. “It’s happened before.”

“Oh,” Stan breathed, berating himself for his suddenly racing heart. Stupid, romantic elf version of Kyle, of course he’d do something like that. Stan could totally see the appeal, even if it wasn’t actually meant for him.

Stupid, lucky other version of himself.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kyle reassured him, “People aren’t likely to bother us anyways.”

“Why’s that?” he asked. 

Kyle shrugged, and Stan decided that he was officially not very assured. The thought crossed his mind that maybe in this world, he and Kyle were dangerous—perhaps disliked? Or maybe in this world elves weren’t very friendly? He hadn’t considered it sooner, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a possibility.

Stan chewed his lip, suddenly feeling very out of place. “Hey, does your me have pointy ears too?” he asked nervously.

Kyle snorted. “No, he’s human.”

“Are there lots of humans in the Elven Kingdom then?”

Kyle shook his head. “Just a few. The two don’t really get along.”

“How’d he end up here then?”

Kyle’s lips twisted into a smile, but his voice was hollow when he answered, “Bad luck.”

Stan didn’t like that answer, or the expression on Kyle’s face. It wasn’t the truth, Stan could tell—a half-truth at best, maybe—but the way Kyle said it meant it wasn’t exactly a lie either. 

“But they get along sometimes, right?” Stan pressed. Kyle gave him a strange look and he clarified, “Humans and elves. They obviously get along sometimes, don’t they?”

Kyle rolled his eyes and said, “You aren’t very subtle. You know that, right?”

Stan tried his best to imitate Kyle’s casual shrug from earlier, a little embarrassed he had decided to call him out on it. 

“But I guess you’re technically correct,” Kyle admitted after a moment.

Stan grinned. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes, now stop talking,” Kyle said, and Stan deflated a little. 

“Sorry, I just meant—”

“I know,” Kyle interrupted him, “but we’ll be arriving at the outer guard soon and if you keep asking questions it’s going to be difficult to explain why you’ve suddenly forgotten everything about elves.”

“Not  _ everything _ ,” Stan corrected, but then he closed his mouth and focused on trying to walk as confidently as he could, given he was wearing his apparent elf boyfriend’s robes over his shoulders—nope, he remembered quickly, not his.

Kyle stopped him a few moments later with a hand against his chest.

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t anticipate any serious problems, but you still have to promise me you won’t say a word about what happened—to anyone.”

“Of course,” Stan replied, confused at how gravely Kyle was suddenly speaking. “I don’t really want people to think I’m crazy, you know.”

Kyle frowned. “It’s not just that,” he said, “It could be dangerous if people found out.”

Stan blanched. “What?”

“Just—I need to be able to trust you,” Kyle sighed.

“You can!” Stan insisted, surging forward in his desperation to make his point known. He had no reason betray him; not only would he lose the one person who might be able to help him, but this was  _ Kyle _ , his or no, and that meant something. 

Kyle’s hard expression faltered somewhat and he stepped away from Stan with a surprising amount of elegance, considering the situation.

“I hope so,” he replied carefully, leaving Stan frustrated. 

How was he supposed to prove himself like this?

“Now, the guard’s post is just around the next bend,” Kyle said, pointing ahead of them, and deftly changing the subject before Stan’s thoughts could wander. 

Stan paused. “We’re just sneaking past them, right?”

It was Kyle’s turn to look confused. “No?” He answered hesitantly, “We’re walking through.”

“They won’t try to stop us?” Stan asked, surprised. 

“Not unless you speak incorrectly,” Kyle pointed out sternly. 

“All right,” Stan conceded, “you lead then.”

He was pretty sure Kyle would have led regardless, if their conversation had been anything to go by, but he seemed pleased at Stan’s offer nonetheless and continued down the path with renewed confidence in his stride. Stan trailed after him at a respectfully close distance, keeping his own strides short so his toolbelt wouldn’t jostle around too much as he moved. He felt distinctly exposed and like he was doing a really poor job of covering himself up, as it was quite literally only Kyle’s robes between himself and the rest of the world. 

The reality of the situation was slowly starting to sink in, and it honestly kind of hurt.

His panic only increased when the guard’s post finally came into view. The path itself was unblocked, marked only by an elaborately carved archway, but two elves dressed fully in armor stood ominously on either side, with weapons in hand. 

Kyle’s pace didn’t slow down though, so Stan kept steady to match his, even if he really wanted to slow down or turn around altogether. 

When the guards finally spotted them approaching, Stan cringed and tried to avoid making any specific, meaningful eye contact. He heard the rustle of their armor and placed one hand on his toolbelt, just in case, but the reaction was unnecessary.

The guards snapped to attention and bowed their heads as Kyle approached.

“Thank you for keeping watch,” he addressed them calmly.

They both raised their heads to nod in acknowledgement. Stan thought it was a little creepy how in-sync they were and watched their practiced motions with a mix of apprehension and fascination. The ears were still weird to try and get used to.

Kyle made a small gesture with his hands spread and the guards slipped out of their stiff positions and stepped aside to let them pass. Kyle tilted his head, almost imperceptibly, and Stan took that as his sign to follow.

“Be well, Your Highness,” one of the guards spoke as they passed. 

Stan was startled by the address and consequently made the mistake of making eye contact with the guard, whose gaze was locked on him.

“And you, Foraime.”

Stan blinked, entirely unsure of what to say. Kyle was near him and there was a subtle press of fingers against his elbow, so Stan just nodded in return and carried on, matching Kyle’s now somewhat hurried steps.

“You have to be more careful,” Kyle mumbled when they were a fair distance away, removing his touch from Stan’s arm. 

“I was surprised,” Stan hissed back urgently, suddenly feeling the desperate urge to return Kyle’s robes. The guard’s address had startled him. “You didn’t mention you were actual  _ royalty _ !”

Kyle made a face and pointed one hand at his head. “The crown didn’t tell you anything?” he asked, stuck somewhere between incredulous and annoyed.

“I didn’t know it was a crown! And what’s a Foraime?”

“Ah,” Kyle replied, and Stan was taken aback that this of all things was what left Kyle at a loss for words. He was definitely starting to panic now—didn’t this mean elven royalty had just smuggled him into the kingdom?

“Well,” Kyle continued, “we can talk about that later.”

Stan finally came to a halt, mind racing with new concerns.

“I’d really rather talk about that now, dude!” he said, his voice a little high. “Like what the fuck you actually meant earlier by dangerous!”

Kyle grimaced. “If I explain will you stop freaking out in the middle of the road?”

Stan glanced back hurriedly to the guard post, but if they’d heard him they weren’t making any indication of it. Still, he understood what Kyle was getting at and reluctantly took a deep breath to settle himself.

“Explain,” he commanded when he was more sure of his voice, ignoring the fact that Kyle was some sort of elf ruler and probably shouldn’t be commanded to do things, but Kyle honestly didn’t seem to mind.

Kyle groaned, but then he was dragging Stan off the road and back into the cover of the trees. When they’d travelled a safe enough distance in, Kyle let go of him and gestured to the ground, so Stan sat down and shrugged off Kyle’s robe with a sigh of relief. Kyle sat down in front of him and removed the wreath of branches from his head so he could run a hand through his unruly hair.

Stan found himself thinking, not for the first time, about how Kyle had always been to him something so out of reach. In his own world, Kyle hadn’t even told him his name, and now here too Kyle was miles above him, distancing himself in rank the same way Kite distanced himself in the sky.

And Stan really didn’t know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's technically not Friday until I go to sleep, right? ;)


	8. Chapter 8

“Are these the garments your Toolshed normally wears?”

Stanley plucked at the white shirt that fit snugly over his chest and frowned. With his own garments discarded to the side along with his familiar cloak, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat exposed, especially in a uniform as simple as Toolshed’s. He wasn’t sure how Toolshed could possibly feel protected enough to fight in something as thin and useless as a shirt and a pair of pants.

“Pretty much,” Kyle said with a shrug. 

Then again, Kyle’s own clothing wasn’t much better. The one-piece suit was thin, and more form-fitting than Toolshed’s clothes, but Stanley had not once seen Kyle look the least bit bothered by it. In fact, when he thought about it the light material was probably better for flying in anyways. Less to lift, less that could get in the way, and flexible for quick or sudden motion. 

But safe? Not so much.

Kyle cleared his throat and approached Stanley with something in his hands. It was transparent and tinted a faint yellow, and without explanation Kyle reached up and placed it over his eyes, careful to thread through his hair so it came to rest comfortably behind his ears. 

Stanley blinked, staring at Kyle through the new yellowish lens, and reached up with one hand to adjust them.

“I can dress myself, you know,” he said with a small grin. 

“It has to look right,” Kyle grumbled, pulling away to cross his arms in front of him. “Those are Shed’s spare goggles, so try not to lose them.”

Stanley hummed but thought it best to ignore commenting on the red tint on Kyle’s cheeks. Instead, he asked, “Are they really necessary?”

“Yes,” Kyle snapped. “This too.”

This time Kyle handed him a heavy leather belt. Stanley took it from him warily, eyeing the several unfamiliar items attached to it. He glanced back up but Kyle merely waved his hand at him so he put it on without further comment. His own hands found the side of his hip where his sword usually rested and found a small device there instead. Without the familiar weight, he felt vulnerable. 

He caught Kyle staring at him and asked, “How do I look?”

There was a long moment of silence before Kyle scrunched his face and said, “You look just like him.”

Stanley wasn’t sure how to interpret that. “Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked hesitantly.

Kyle frowned. “It’s creepy.”

“If you would rather I didn’t then I can simply—”

“I didn’t say that,” Kyle interrupted him, halting Stanley in the middle of taking off his strange yellow goggles. “It’s just… creepy.”

“I see,” Stanley replied. He wasn’t quite sure he understood what Kyle meant, but he imagined he would be jarred as well if he saw this Kyle dressed in the clothing he was more accustomed to seeing him in. 

Kyle coughed. “Anyways, we should head out.”

“Where are we going?” Stanley asked.

“Just, out. Shed and I hadn’t done our patrol yet, and there’s someone we need to go meet.”

Stanley went to retrieve his sword from its place against the wall, but Kyle reached out to stop him before he could grab it.

“Dude, you can’t bring that,” he said, “Shed doesn’t carry around a sword.”

Stanley lowered his gaze to the strange devices around his belt and replied, “I don’t know how to use these.”

“You don’t have to,” Kyle said. “You won’t need to fight anyways.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It’s just patrol, things don’t always happen,” Kyle shrugged. “If they do I got it covered.”

“What if you don’t?” Stanley asked.

Kyle glared at him with narrowed eyes. “I will,” he said firmly.

“It’s my job to protect you, what if—”

“Maybe in your world it is,” Kyle spoke over him. “But here I take care of things myself.”

Stanley frowned. “That’s a dangerous attitude,” he said, not quite willing to give up the argument yet. The idea of doing nothing while Kyle fought for their lives bothered him. His whole life he’d trained to make sure that wasn’t the case.

Kyle just scoffed. “It’s a necessary one.”

Stanley paused, knowing his response would be pushing it. “Does Toolshed agree with that?” he asked carefully.

“He understands,” Kyle said, his voice low. 

A cold breeze swept through the building suddenly and Stanley shivered, once again missing the warmth of his cloak. 

“Very well,” he sighed, knowing that there was no way he would be winning the fight. It wasn’t his job to change this Kyle’s mind, after all.

“Let’s go, then,” Kyle said. He headed for the door and didn’t even bother to check that Stanley was following him before he disappeared outside.

Stanley rolled his eyes and headed for the door too. He glanced back one last time at his sword and prayed silently that its energy would still remain by the time he could get back to it. The idea of being away from it for so long worried him—what if something happened to his king?

With a shake of his head, Stanley tried to dismiss the thought. Worrying wouldn’t bring him closer to finding out what happened, or how to get back.

When he finally emerged outside, Stanley spotted Kyle a short distance away by the gate. Resigned, he made his way over and allowed himself to be lifted over on the winds once more. The landing was rougher than before, and Stanley waivered slightly before regaining his footing. 

Kyle landed by his side without a word and headed off down the street.

Stanley hastened to catch up to him. “How long is your patrol normally?” he asked, hoping to return as soon as was possible. He was beginning to wonder if there was perhaps a better way of doing things.

“Not too long,” Kyle shrugged. “We split it up with a couple other heroes a few months ago, better coverage and all that.”

“There’s others?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, making a face. “It’s kind of complicated right now. Shed and I try and keep to ourselves.”

“Are they dangerous?”

Kyle chuckled. “Not to us. Like I said, we keep to ourselves, so there aren’t any problems.”

“Interesting,” Stanley mumbled. “So, how does this work?”

“Normally we’d want to keep moving, but it’s not really a good idea for Toolshed to just be walking around on the sidewalk,” Kyle said. “I’ll scout in the air for a better look and we can head somewhere if I find something. Just stick close to me.”

“Understood.”

Kyle took off into the air and Stanley watched from the ground, one hand tracing loosely against the devices on his belt. When he was sure Kyle was too far away to hear him, he sighed.

Realistically, he knew Kyle was making fair points. He was clueless about this world and they couldn’t risk people finding out about Toolshed’s disappearance. To disguise himself properly he had to look every bit the part, weapons and all, even if it meant he had to rely on Kyle when it came to combat. 

Even so, Stanley had never been one to sit back and do nothing. It made him feel restless, afraid. If he could do something, live for something, sacrifice for something—he needed that purpose in his life.

As he gazed up at the dark and distant shape of Kyle drifting above him in the sky, Stanley allowed himself a moment to wither. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He’d never been a fan of traveling to distant lands, and an entirely different universe? Definitely the furthest he’d ever traveled before. The unfamiliarity of it all weighed on him. He didn’t like to feel lost.

Stanley took a deep breath. He wasn’t lost—he had Kyle. King or not, Kyle was still Kyle, and despite his more hot-headed tendencies Stanley was sure that if anybody could help him figure things out, it was Kyle. He watched the lazy way Kyle glided further ahead and followed his path like a guiding star. It reminded him of days long past, when he’d first met the boy that changed his life. 

Stanley smiled. Kyle had been particularly argumentative back then too.

Suddenly, the winds changed, and Stanley hurriedly glanced back up at the sky.

He watched with concern as Kyle spiraled back down from his vantage point in the sky. The wind whipped angrily as he landed on the ground hard, a sharp breath escaping his lips from the impact. Stanley hurried to his side and Kyle’s gaze snapped up to him.

“Someone’s coming,” he muttered quickly, “Let me do the talking.”

“Who?” Stanley asked, but Kyle merely shook his head and pointed ahead.

Stanley glanced down the street with a frown, but it was completely empty. He was about to turn back and ask if perhaps Kyle had been mistaken, when he caught a sudden flash of yellow in his vision. He couldn’t make out what it was, but it was moving extremely fast, and right towards them. Stanley took one hesitant step backwards to stand next to Kyle as the yellow blur streaked down the road and halted in front of them. 

To Stanley’s surprise, the blur was in fact another person, dressed in a bright yellow costume and with peculiar metal weapons attached to both of his arms. He could only assume they were some sort of weapon, though he’d never seen anything like it before.

“Fastpass,” Kyle said, and Stanley assumed that was the newcomer’s alias. “What’s the matter?”

“You told me to f-find you next time it ha-happened,” Fastpass said hurriedly.

Next to him, Kyle tensed. Stanley glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

Fastpass sucked in a breath and continued, “Mysterion and The Coon are fighting again.”

Kyle’s eyes narrowed and Stanley could feel the wind tugging at him, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

“Show me where,” Kyle commanded, his voice sharp with finality. Stanley’s heart skipped a beat in surprise. He’d heard Kyle speak like that before, back in his world, but it never bode well for the parties involved. The full might of the king’s wrath was never thrown around lightly.

“This w-way,” Fastpass said, gesturing behind him.

Kyle launched into the air and Fastpass took off back down the road—still fast, but slow enough that they wouldn’t lose track of him. Stanley watched both of them go with an overwhelming sense of trepidation.

“Shed! Let’s go!”

Stanley glanced up and saw Kyle in the sky looking down at him. He set off running, his eyes fixed above him on Kyle, following him as closely as possible with renewed resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! So I made an announcement about this a month ago but realized I forgot to like, actually put one here so I'm so incredibly sorry about that omg. But anyways, long story short: big medical disaster and traveling and not feeling well for a while, etc etc. But all the scary stuff's done and I'm pretty much all taken care of so! I'll probably be changing my update schedule to fit my new weekly work hours and stuff better but otherwise we are back to business as usual :)


	9. Chapter 9

Stan’s fingers remained tightly curled in the grass long after Kyle had finished talking.

When he’d first met the Human Kite, he remembered feeling blown away by the immense power that seemed to radiate from him. Not just his abilities, but the sheer force of his conviction—it didn’t surprise him that in another universe he’d be a king. He was suited for it: swift, decisive, just. And most importantly of all, Stan had always found him magnetizing. Someone he could—would—follow, down any path he led. 

It didn’t surprise him that Kyle was a king. What did surprise him, and what he still couldn’t wrap his head around, was the fact that he was supposed to be his second-in-command, most trusted advisor, most ardent of shields… most precious of companions. 

He was surprised that somehow, in this universe, Kyle would let him.

That he could be those things, do those things—that he was trusted, above all else—part of him treasured the knowledge, but the other part of him, loud and unsure and lost, feared it. What had he done to earn it? And how could he possibly fill the vast, empty space his counterpart had left behind?

A familiar pair of dappled eyes blinked and Stan swallowed down all the words that might give voice to his doubt. He didn’t have the option of being afraid.

“Stan,” Kyle said carefully, “Like I said, I need to know I can trust you. Things are different here.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Stan grumbled, and he heard Kyle’s sharp breath of frustration. The guilt he felt afterwards was immediate and he sighed, trying to expel some of the stiffness that had set over him. 

Kyle shifted the crown in his hands and stared down at it with a distant frown. “Would you prefer it if I had left you in the forest?” He asked, his voice sharp with the challenge.

Stan kept his gaze fixed on the ground, trying to think.

“Stanley can’t go missing,” Kyle pressed, “The people would panic, and we’ve had more than enough of that as of late.”

Stan glanced up at that, to see Kyle watching him again.

“Now is a time of great uncertainty,” Kyle said. “There was an assassination attempt a few weeks ago, and we still do not know by whom.”

Stan’s blood ran cold.

“Who was it against?”

Kyle scoffed, dry and unamused. His fingers continued to wind around the branches of his crown, and he lifted it slightly when he replied, “Me.”

Stan leaned forward, alarmed. “Are you ok?”

“I do not think I would be talking to you right now if I wasn’t.”

“Still…”

Kyle shrugged. “At any rate, surely now you understand my concerns. For Stanley to disappear so soon after the attempt occurred, I find it hard to pass off as mere coincidence.”

“No wonder you freaked out so much.”

Kyle frowned, taken aback. “I did no such thing.”

Stan snickered at Kyle’s expression. “Dude, you totally did.”

“I believe I was acting reasonably considering the circumstances,” Kyle snapped, his face tinged red. Kite had always colored easily too.

“I’m just saying,” Stan said as he raised his hands in defense. “I totally thought I was screwed.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Must you always speak so idiomatically?”

Stan snorted and asked, “What, you want me to talk fancy now too?” 

“It would make you far more convincing,” Kyle said.

“Being able to understand elvish would make me more convincing,” Stan countered, feeling more defensive of his speech than he probably should. The idea of leaving the entirety of his true self behind, to blend in completely with the new world around him—what if it made it impossible to go back?

“Don’t make me order you to,” Kyle said as he crossed his arms.

Stan mirrored the action and smirked. “You can’t order me to do anything. I’m technically not one of your subjects, after all.”

Kyle stared him down but Stan refused to give in. Eventually, he uncrossed his arms and declared, “Some respect for royalty would make you more convincing too.”

Stan hummed, but it was hard to stay light-hearted with the looming concerns hanging over his head. A foreign land, full of magic and danger, where all he had was a few tools and too many dying batteries. All he had, all he  _ knew _ , was Kyle, and even then, what he knew wasn’t much. He tried for a smile but it came out as more of a grimace when he said, “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, as your protector and all that, but I’ll try.”

Kyle leaned back then, as if truly considering him for the first time. Under his gaze Stan couldn’t help but feel a little flimsy. Not afraid, but vulnerable. He’d never been too strong with words.

Finally, just as Stan began to squirm, Kyle spoke. “I can accept that,” he said, and with a last twirl in his hands he placed the crown back on his head and stood.

Stan watched the way that stray streaks of sunlight traced the outline of his features as he stood above him, and in the back of his mind he wondered, for the briefest of moments, if the two Kyle’s were somehow, inextricably linked. If anything happened to Kyle the king, would the same happen to Kite? 

The thought slipped away when Kyle held out his hand.

“In exchange for your cooperation, Stan,” he said, “I swear I will do everything in my power to return you home.”

Stan took his hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He doubted it would be that simple, as it seemed Kyle was just as clueless as he was over how the switch had happened, but to have at least a glancingly familiar ally officially on his side made a warm swell of relief blossom in his chest. 

“Thank you,” he said, with a genuine smile. Kyle returned the gesture before releasing his hand and striding past him, back towards the road they had strayed from.

“If you are finally satisfied,” he called back over his shoulder as he left, “there is still a small distance left before we reach the capital, and I hope to return before nightfall.”

Stan followed after him, ducking through the low-hanging branches.

“Is it dangerous at night?” He asked, keeping a sudden eye out for any signs of wildlife, but so far he’d only heard the quiet chirping of birds higher up in the trees.

Ahead of him, Kyle shook his head. 

“Everything is dangerous when you’re a king,” he replied, and Stan fell silent.

He knew Kyle could hold his own, had caught a glimpse of the power of the king’s magic, but it was his job now, officially, to protect him—with his life, if need be. In many ways, it wasn’t so uncommon from what he had been doing before. He and Kite were always watching each other’s backs, protecting each other, so the concept really shouldn’t bother him as much as it did. But Stan couldn’t shake the feeling that had overcome him before, the cold sense of distance, because the reality was that in this world, he was expected to lay down his life for Kyle, but Kyle would never be allowed to do the same.

He felt sorry for himself—his other self—for the loneliness of it all. It always hurt to love a person out of your reach.

They reconnected with the road to the capital in the persisting silence and Stan tried his best not to look conspicuous. He glanced down and timed his strides with Kyle’s, brisk and purposeful, hoping not to look as lost as he felt as they walked down the road to the next great unknown. 

He tried to remind himself that there was no room for doubt.

“If we continue down this road without delay we should arrive within the hour,” Kyle said, and Stan wondered if he could sense his unease. The knowledge was only minimally comforting, but he appreciated the effort anyways. 

“Are there usually delays?” He asked.

Kyle paused for a moment before he answered, “Not within the boundaries.”

Stan let the topic slide, allowing them to lapse back into silence as they walked down the road together. Talking with Kyle like this was strange, hearing Kite in his head but seeing the king open his mouth instead. He felt like he’d never get used to it soon enough, but worried about forgetting at the same time. How long had it been since the switch anyways—did time even work the same way between universes?

Slightly in front of him, Kyle stopped.

Stan fumbled to halt before he could walk right into Kyle’s back, looking around in alarm for potential danger but seeing nothing. Kyle’s head was angled upward, staring expectantly at an empty sky through narrowed eyes. 

Stan watched too, as a sudden breeze rustled past, the cold seeping right through his clothes and into his skin. He shivered.

Suddenly, from above the tree line ahead, a ripple of pale blue streaked across the sky. Stan watched it, alarmed, as the air warped around it, disturbed like the surface of water wherever it touched. It fluttered momentarily above them before sinking down and coming to a halt right in front of Kyle. It hovered there, a wispy light blue, and Stan could just about make out the vague shape of a bird before Kyle reached out with one hand and touched it.

The image vanished in a swirl of blue, and a light pulse of color ran up Kyle’s outstretched arm.

“What was that?” Stan asked when Kyle remained motionless.

Kyle turned to him then, a distinct frown on his face, and said, “A message. The human delegation is arriving earlier than expected. We need to hurry.”

With that, Kyle set off again, and Stan rushed to keep up with his frantic pace. Whatever it was, Kyle was clearly agitated about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still haven't settled on my new upload day but I figured it was about time so why not now :) There is... so much more SoT-verse lore to cover...;;


	10. Chapter 10

By the time they arrived on scene, the fight was already well under way. 

Kyle and Fastpass had come to a halt just at the edge of a sheltered alleyway that connected with a tattered old parking lot. Slowing his pace, Stanley came to a halt just behind them and glanced over their shoulders at the two figures staring each other down, breathing hard for air. One figure was pressing a hand firmly against a gash in his shoulder, but Stanley couldn’t see much of his expression because of the long, dark cloak obscuring most of him from view. It was ripped in places, shredded as if by knives, and when Stanley glanced at the second and larger of the two figures, he understood why.

Long, silvery claws were fashioned to protrude out from the tips of the second man’s fingertips, and as he flexed them the harsh lights of a nearby streetlamp caught the metal and Stanley could see the blood staining the surface, dripping slowly to the floor. Whoever he was, he looked wild, with the eyes and costume of a feral animal--ears, tail, and all--but what really worried Stanley was the grin as the man took in the damage he’d done.

“What’s the matter, Mysterion?” He taunted, “Scared of a little blood?”

The cloaked hero, Mysterion, removed the gloved, blood-stained hand from his shoulder and growled, low and menacing. Something in the noise snagged at Stanley’s heart and he paused, struck suddenly by the danger in it. It sounded dark, inhuman, and suddenly Stanley dreaded to see his face. In front of him Fastpass shifted on his feet and shot a glance in Kyle’s direction, but there was no response. Kyle was silent, staring intently ahead.

“You don’t know what fear is, Coon,” Mysterion replied, taking a single, menacing step forward. Maybe it was Stanley’s imagination, but he swore he could practically feel the anger radiating from him, rolling in strong, persistent waves. 

The Coon sneered. “Nobody gives a shit about your whiny goth act anymore,” he scoffed, “You can’t scare me.”

Mysterion took another step closer, and even hidden in the alleyway Stanley felt like holding his breath.

“I’m telling you now to give it up while you still can,” he said. “Before I make you.”

The Coon laughed and crossed his arms in front of him. “Shut up, you can’t threaten me! You’re the one bleeding out like a bitch.” 

Mysterion paused in his steps and tilted his head almost imperceptibly to the side. 

“For now,” he said. 

And then the streetlamp shattered. 

As the scene plunged into darkness, Kyle swore. Beyond the alley he heard the sound of heavy footsteps and a sudden yelp of surprise, and Kyle grabbed Fastpass by the shoulder. 

“I want you to go and make sure any civilians around here keep out,” he said, a hard edge sinking into his voice. 

A wave of bristling cold crashed through the alley and all three of them recoiled. Fastpass was the first to recover, and he nodded stiffly before running off, a brief trail of flashing light cutting through the darkness. When he was gone, Stanley heard Kyle suck in a breath and watched as he snapped his flight goggles on. 

His instincts started screaming at him.

“What are you doing?” He demanded, though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

Kyle glanced back at him and said, “Make sure you stay out of sight.”

Stanley reached out with one arm and lunged, but Kyle was already airborne. He glanced up to catch him looking back with an unreadable expression on his face before his jaw set and he launched himself at the vague shadows battling it out in the parking lot. 

“Kyle!” Stanley hissed, and rushed to the edge of the alley to watch.

Kyle seemed hesitant for a brief moment, watching from above as Mysterion and The Coon collided again and again, before he angled himself down and slammed into the ground with enough of a wind current to knock both of the other heroes backwards. They staggered, momentarily surprised at the sudden intrusion, and Kyle shot them both angry looks before he snapped, “Knock it off, you two!”

“Kite?” Mysterion asked, recognition bringing a lighter tone to his otherwise harsh voice. 

The Coon was not as friendly. “Hey, watch where you’re flying you piece of shit!”

Kyle turned his head towards him and said, “Shut up, Coon. I thought I told you two to stay the fuck away from each other.”

“He started it, not me,” The Coon snapped, and when Kyle glanced pointedly at his bloodied claws he added, “It’s called self-defense, asshole.”

“Kite, The Coon’s been--”

“Hey! Shut up, Satan-fucker!”

Mysterion twitched at the insult and Kyle returned to glaring at The Coon in exasperation.

“I’m just saying, you’ve seen his powers haven’t you--”

“Knock it off!”

“I’ve been doing my own investigating,” Mysterion continued when The Coon begrudgingly closed his mouth, “but The Coon has been refusing to answer my questions.”

“What questions?” Kyle asked.

“None of your business, that’s what!” The Coon shouted.

“Coon,” Kyle sighed, “If you have information you have to--”

“I don’t have to do shit, Kite, go back to getting fucked by your super-boyfriend, or whatever else you two do at night,” The Coon snarled. “And you,” he continued, pointed a clawed finger back at Mysterion, “mind your own business and go kill yourself. It’s what you do best after all.”

The temperature in the lot dropped again, and Kyle turned back to Mysterion in alarm. “Don’t listen to him, it’s not--”

“I’m done listening.”

A cloud of darkness seeped out from under Mysterion’s cloak and crashed into the other two, sweeping up everything in the lot until Stanley could only make out the haziest of blurs. His heart clenched in panic as there were shouts and the blurs began to move, then moments later Kyle emerged from the top of the cloud, black wisps clinging to his form and eyes glowing red. He gave a violent twist and wind began to rake through the buildings, crashing hard against the ominous black cloud. The cloud shuddered, like a full-body entity, and seeped apart, strangely more like water than air, and Stanley didn’t know what he was seeing.

The Coon was on the ground, wide-eyed and struggling, as tendrils of darkness latched onto his costume and pulled. He slashed at them with his claws, but the darkness only bled more shadows that reached out hungrily across the ground. Mysterion towered over him, darkness still pooling out from under his cloak, and Stanley felt his sense of danger spiking wildly.

Mysterion leaned down as the shadows grew thicker, and despite his misgivings Stanley began to stagger forward. The Coon wasn’t safe. 

The glowing red of Kyle’s lasers cut through one of the shadows and burned a hole in Mysterion’s cloak. It flinched and stuttered out of existence as Mysterion’s attention turned skyward, his gaze locking on Kyle with a horrible, cold stillness. The Coon scrambled away as much as he could, claws scraping horribly against the asphalt, as the shadows darted up and into the air. Kyle swept to avoid them, but they just kept coming, lashing out, filling the sky with a voidless black that blocked out the stars.

The Coon’s back hit the wall next to the alley and Stanley rushed out to kneel beside him, checking to make sure he was ok. Where the darkness had touched left angry red marks on the exposed skin, but The Coon was heaving, flailing to stand and cursing under his breath so Stanley took it as a good sign. He reached out a hand to help steady the hero and finally their eyes met.

Stanley froze. 

The Coon was wearing a mask, but Stanley could still see his eyes, wide and beady and furious. He knew those eyes. He’d  _ fought  _ against those eyes, once, years ago. But he’d been so terrified at the time, he’d never forgotten since. 

The Grand Wizard’s eyes stared up at him, and Stanley stared back.

“Where the fuck have you been?” The Coon snapped.

Overhead, a sudden rush of wind forced Stanley to duck as Kyle flew past, still pursued by the reaching darkness. The Coon flinched, minutely, and then continued to try and pull himself up. Stanley watched him, numb from the shock.

“What, Kite finally sucked your brains out?” The Coon hissed. “Hurry and help me up!”

Stanley glanced down at the Wizard’s--The Coon’s--hand and grabbed it, still in a daze. It wasn’t like The Coon recognized him as anything other than Toolshed, clearly, but it still alarmed him that in this world, there were others. Especially when those others were the Wizard… but in this world, The Coon was counted among the other heroes, was he not?

He grasped The Coon’s hand more firmly, and when he saw the sudden flash of teeth he knew he’d made a mistake. The Coon pulled on him, hard, and sent him crashing into the ground, where he hit his head against the wall. Stanley struggled to regain control of himself through the sudden pain and looked up to see The Coon leering over him, a small metallic ball grasped between his fingers.

“Nothing personal, superduo,” he said, gazing up to where Kyle was still flying, trying to avoid the grasping web of darkness, “but to be fair, Kite  _ did  _ volunteer to be bait.”

Before Stanley could stop him, The Coon threw the metal sphere with all his might, straight at Kyle. It sailed through the air and hit him square in the back, casting a violent shock of what looked like lightning. Whatever it was, it hit Kyle hard, and he fell straight out of the wind currents and onto the ground with a violent thump. The Coon, smirking at his aim, didn’t stick around. He bolted down the alley and out of sight. 

Stanley struggled to push himself up, feeling his head protest at the motion but ignoring it as best he could. Kyle still hadn’t gotten up and the shadows were closing in. Mysterion was more shadow than person at this point too, watching the body on the ground with detachment, and Stanley didn’t know how to stop him, didn’t know if he  _ could _ , but he also didn’t care. 

No matter what, he’d sworn to protect Kyle’s life, even--or especially--with his own.

He staggered to his feet and rushed to Kyle’s side, standing in between him and Mysterion as the shadows closed in. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reached out his hand, feeling the magic tingling just under the surface, begging it would be enough.

The shadow crashed against his hand and he felt it like it was tearing through his own soul, cold and hot and terrifying all at once, overloading his mind with panic, but he thought of Kyle and runes and the trace of fingers on his skin, conjured an image of the darkness, and pushed it back. The runes on his arm screamed in protest and it burned, worse than before, but he yanked his eyes open and watched as the darkness twitched and spasmed before retreating, seeping out of the air and coiling fast back into Mysterion’s cloak until it was all gone.

Mysterion staggered on his feet and opened his eyes. Stanley saw them, glowing a dim purple through his mask, before it faded out completely. They stared at each other, Mysterion silent and Stanley breathing heavy, before Mysterion turned on his feet and vanished without a word.

Stanley sagged and sighed in relief, sinking onto his knees and turning his attention back to Kyle just as he stirred and pushed himself up on his hands. A groan tore through his throat and Stanley placed one hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing a soothing circle he wasn’t really even sure this Kyle would like. 

But as the seconds pressed on and Kyle said nothing, Stanley just continued the action as he leaned down and said, “They’re gone now.”

Kyle groaned one more time and glanced at the alley where The Coon had disappeared. “That,” he mumbled, “ _ fucking asshole _ .”

Stanley thought of the Grand Wizard’s eyes and his motions still for a moment. The fear he’d felt… he didn’t like to think about it. Instead, he held on to the sensation of Kyle’s warmth under his hand as the burning in his arm subsided and forced out a small chuckle.

“Tell me about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a lot shorter than it turned out so I had to cut it up but! Good news is that means the next Kite/Stanley chapter is... basically almost completely written haha.


End file.
